Thursday, June 03, 2010

George Frey b. 1911. And still ticking.

My mom put on a sweet party for my Grandpa's 99th birthday celebration. She put a lot of thought into the menu, trying to find a balance between George's favorite dishes (Steak and kidney pie. Liver and onions. Potatoes and gravy. Ice cream) and what the rest of us would willingly consume (Potatoes and gravy. Ice cream. No dice on the kidney and liver). In the end, we had lamb with potatoes and gravy, salads, and deviled eggs. And homemade ice cream, of course.

For a guy that can't remember that he's married, or that he has children, or what city he's lived in for the past 10 years, there is one thing that he hasn't forgotten: how to make ice cream. I'm guessing that somewhere in that DNA, there is a hidden gene for producing ice cream.

Clearly being 99 years old or celebrating your birthday is nice, but you still are required to have a go at the ice cream machine. Grandpa actually cranked the whole batch, with a bit of help from Jesse. When asked what flavor we were making, his response: "Why chocolate, I presume". Really, and why would you bother with any other of those fancy flavors?